


The Association.

by Evanaissante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fred Weasley Dies, M/M, POV George Weasley, Protective Oliver Wood, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: No one wants to learn in school how teenagers dragged their brothers and sisters' corpses away from the battlefield, no one wants to know how many spells it takes to wipe away the smell of decay and the dried drops of blood on your clothes, those are not the facts you want to read in a book about the greatest fight in over a century. No, children want to know how Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived won. History books are written by victors anyway, and victors have no time for collateral damage and sad stories about dead children and separated twins.But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.





	The Association.

History books never talk about the few hours after a battle, the few days after the war, that lapse of time where you don't remember the victory yet and all that you know is that you survived, you're breathing, but you're one in a million.

No one wants to learn in school how teenagers dragged their brothers and sisters' corpses away from the battlefield, no one wants to know how many spells it takes to wipe away the smell of decay and the dried drops of blood on your clothes, those are not the facts you want to read in a book about the greatest fight in over a century. No, children want to know how Harry Potter, the  _Chosen One_ , the  _Boy Who Lived_  won. History books are written by victors anyway, and victors have no time for collateral damage and sad stories about dead children and separated twins.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

In the hours after the Battle of Hogwarts, no one celebrates. There is nothing to celebrate, not even Voldemort's downfall, it's still death after all, there's nothing joyful about it. What the victors do, before they write lies they will pass as true facts, is mend their wounds, cry their dead and vomit the last content of their stomach on the castle's stone floors. That's what George is doing, he's not hugging his younger sister close to his heart, he's not making sure that all his remaining siblings are safe and sound, he's puking the little food he was able to keep down a few inches away from his twin's, now cold, body.

He should be ashamed, he should wipe his mouth and carry Fred into a bed, somewhere comfortable that doesn't smell like the bitter remains of his guts. But he can't stand up, the adrenaline and rage that fuelled his fight against Death Eaters is long gone and he's helpless.

_He hates it._

There's a hand on his shoulder, it's warm, too warm, warm like Fred will never be again, it's burning, scorching, it's unforgiving and George wants to rip it apart, wants to bite it off and take revenge, more revenge, because that's all there is left. He doesn't, of course, he lets Oliver Wood pat his back and rub his shoulders because he might hate the feeling of weakness that edges his bones, but he abhors loneliness more.

 _You're going to have to get used to it_ , says a voice in his mind and he doesn't know if it's his own or Fred's, they've always been too alike. Now, his own thoughts will push him back into grief if he dares to even think, his head is too full of Fred to feel like his own. What a fucking big irony, for someone his mother always called absent-minded.

"You need to get up, George." Wood says, he sounds nothing like Fred and that's the first relief of the day. "You can't stay on the ground."

George snorts and he feels vomit go into his nose, "Of course I can, you just don't want me to."

Wood doesn't add anything, maybe he knows it's a fight he will lose, he only lifts George up to his feet and tries to get him to walk, but George doesn't move, he can't.

"I won't leave him." He says, eyes glued to his brother's pale skin and blue lips. "If he stays on the ground, then I stay on the ground."

It's petty in a way he's never been before. Funny? Yes. Rebellious? When needed. But petty? That was his sister, that was Percy, or even Ron, Charlie and Bill. Petty was for people who didn't have a twin.

Wood stares at him, but he doesn't look mad or even annoyed. He doesn't look sad either, he doesn't send pity in waves that would make George nauseous, he looks purposeful when he gets his wand out and casts a spell on Fred that makes him levitate and follow them.

The rest of the night is quite a blur, George falls asleep on a bench near his brother, Wood is not too far away and that's the only reason he doesn't wake up in bursts of fear.

The Association of Hogwarts Survivors, the AHOS, is born six months after the war. It took more time than it should have, the Ministry didn't want to "waste" money on such a trivial matter up until Harry, who had now been pretty much crowned king of the world, had openly stated that he had troubles sleeping and that he would love to find somewhere made especially for people like him, a place where he could find comfort, where he could find people as traumatised as him. After that, the Ministry had offered a room and a monthly income for the Association's workers in less than a week.

George had never planned on becoming some sort of social worker, but he also had never planned on losing his brother, and if his parents ever taught him something is that you make do with what you have. He helped to found the Association just two months after the war, with the help of Neville Longbottom, Oliver Wood and Hermione Granger. He didn't really believe that he was the most balanced person for that position, but no one had made any comments about it, Hermione had even described him as a picture of health. Maybe he hid it better than most, it must have been because of his naturally cheerful behaviour, the one he could fake in his sleep, but Wood didn't seem convinced. He'd been the one to retrieve him from the dirty ground on that cursed day after all, that had probably broken any type of faith he once had, if he ever had any, in George.

But Wood didn't stop him, on the contrary, he helped him more than most, he was always there when the Association needed him and he made sure of acting like a gentleman with everyone, even with the bloody twats who mocked the Association and its founders. The man was too pure, too good, he'd always been, George had said that when he was their Quidditch leader, he was still saying it now.

"We should work with Slytherin students," Wood approached one evening, a bottle of cheap beer in one hand and a stapled file in the other, "I made you a list of advantages that would bring."

"You want to team up with Death Eaters?" George asked, his third beer already empty, "That's one of your craziest ideas yet, Wood. Congratulations, you out made yourself."

Wood rolled his eyes, "I talked about it with Hermione, who talked about it with Ron..."

"Who talked about it with Harry." George completed.

"Yeah," Wood smiled, "He says that Draco Malfoy wants to organise meetings for children of Death Eaters, the ones who didn't have a choice."

George kept his _You always have a choice argument_  silent, he'd seen Draco a few times over the months, and while he still wasn't his best mate, he knew that the ex-Death Eater was trying to right his wrongs as much as one could. Still, he wasn't overly enthusiastic.

"I won't work with Parkinson, she has no remorse and I'd rather snog the Ghoul in my attic than see her face again," George said.

"One day, you'll have to explain that story." Wood stated, "But I agree with you, I think we should work with Malfoy, Zabini and maybe Nott if we can, but I promise you that you'll have the last word on the matter if you're really against it."

George nodded, he didn't know why but hearing Wood say such a thing out loud made him feel all giddy. His cheeks were heating up, they were probably already matching the colour of his hair and he didn't know if he had to award the tingling feeling in his legs to Wood's speech or his fourth beer. He'd noticed recently that every time Wood looked at him with a sort of pride, or when he asked for George's opinion like his only would truly change something, he would feel a tickle in his toes and his head seemed so light that it could fly away. Maybe it was the solitude talking, the need of praise and acceptance that clouded his judgement and made his body lose all control, or maybe it was something else, something he didn't feel ready to face.

Not now. Not alone.

If Fred had been still there, he could have told him, he maybe wouldn't even had the need to. His twin always had the capacity of figuring out everything George didn't even know about himself yet. Fred would have seen his brother's blushing and he would have snorted something completely crude yet approving.  _"You want Oliver Wood's wood?" Who would have known, Georgie. Now I get why you liked Quidditch so much."_  And George, who wouldn't feel so empty that an entire building couldn't begin to clog the hole in his chest every time he thought of his brother, that George would have laughed.

That George would have smiled and explained to his brother how Wood made him feel every time he smiled his way, he would have told him how he'd been asking himself if maybe, just maybe, Wood smiled so brightly at him because he felt the same thing or if Wood was such a perfect guy that he was naturally glowing with kindness.

But this George, the George who drinks six beers like it's his mum's homemade pumpkin juice, this George who cannot tell if he slept last night because his dreams feel too real, this George who snapped at Ron yesterday and who still hasn't apologised, this George doesn't tell anyone that he looks at Oliver Wood with adoration. This George Weasley doesn't deserve this kind of happiness. That kind of happiness is for people who didn't watch their twin dying without doing anything.

"George?" Wood whispers, his beer is finished, he looks tired, worried, utterly beautiful, and so out of George's league that's it actually kind of funny, on a depressing level. "Are you alright?"

It's pathetic, but George feels like smiling, here he is, totally and irremediably plastered, he can barely feel his toes and he's certain that his breath smells like old phlegm Bertie Bott's bean, but Wood is holding him up, almost embracing him as he navigates him back on the sofa and that's enough to make George giddy. He should probably be concerned that his mood can change so drastically in a matter of seconds, but as he said before, he's sloshed. He couldn't worry about anything right now, even if he tried really hard.

"I feel great, Wood." He slurs, his eyes shining and his putrid breath hitting the other man's neck as they both fall on the sofa. "I haven't felt this good in months." He laughs a little because it's true, it's sad in a way, that his best moment in six months is getting so drunk that he can't move with Oliver Wood.

Wood doesn't seem to find it funny, he stares at George with something mournful in his eyes. George should worry, he truly would, if he didn't feel so tired all of a sudden. He barely muffles goodnight before his head slides on Wood's knees, using the other man as a pillow before he falls asleep and starts snoring.

They don't talk about it afterwards and George is unbearably grateful. Wood continues to smile at the redheaded man and talk to him with his soft and smooth voice, but there is an edge to their conversation now, a small crack in the immaculate mask George had created for himself. It's almost invisible if you don't know where to look, the rest of the Association barely notices the stiff way George moves his body and the sharp breath he takes in every time he starts speaking. Hermione is too busy to ask, Ron is too oblivious to see and Harry feels too guilty to even look at George in the eyes. But the cracks expend every day, the glass around his heart is breaking and soon enough, he's exposed and naked.

It's Malfoy's fault really, when isn't it Malfoy's fault? The blond idiot just has to arrive to an Association meeting with Parkinson and Zabini. He couldn't take Bulstrode or Greengrass. George would even have settled on Nott, who at least didn't smirk every time he entered a room compared to Zabini.

George could also blame Harry for this, which would be the first time he blamed Harry about anything related to the war. He'd made sure that Harry didn't reproach himself with everything that had taken place during the Battle of Hogwarts, especially Fred's death as well as the Lupins', but it had been a vain cause, Harry was nothing if not a martyr.

Still, George hadn't planned on losing his cool at their first House inclusive meeting. He had talked about it with Wood beforehand and they had come to the agreement that if George ever felt uncomfortable, he would simply leave the room without making a fuss. But they hadn't planned an escape road in the case where George's embarrassment turned into fury.

He wasn't sure what had triggered him, maybe Parkinson's grin, or Zabini's total lack of interest, all that he was sure of was that one minute he was sitting next to Wood, listening to Hannah Abbott explain how her nightmares always involved whispers and snakes, and the next, he was grabbing Zabini's shirt and almost lifting him off the ground.

He heard Harry try to stop him and he felt Ron grip his shoulders tightly, but blood was rushing through his ears and Zabini's mocking smile made it boil. He didn't get the time to punch the living shit out of the twat, Hermione quickly spelled him backwards, he fell next to the wall and was quick on his feet to finish the job, but Malefoy was standing between the both of them. George didn't know when punching Malfoy became a problem for him, all that he knew was that right now, he couldn't even threaten the guy without feeling sick to his stomach.

"George," he heard Wood say, "Can you come with me?"

He ignored him, staring right at Zabini's face, who seemed more amused than scared. "You take that back, you filthy..."

" _George._ " Wood called again.

"You might not be in Azkaban, but everyone here knows you don't deserve to walk the streets freely, and that goes for you too Parkinson, you gutless..."

"GEORGE." He couldn't possibly ignore that yell, he turned to Wood and was surprised to not see anger in his eyes, but fear. "Come with me." Repeated Wood, he took George's hand and dragged him out of the room, but not before he heard Parkinson's voice.

"He's completely mad. I hope you know that, Granger."

He felt suddenly exhausted and slightly dizzy. Was he mad? Was he turning insane? He read some Muggle papers that proved that identical twins who got separated became mentally unstable. Was he mentally unstable? He heard Harry say that he had depression and couldn't sleep well. He didn't sleep well either, but he hadn't been to see a doctor like Harry, he was still a little scared of Muggle Healers and the Healers at St Mungo's had told him that he was entirely fine. Maybe he wasn't? How could he know if he was mad? He didn't feel mad, he just felt tired, and lonely, and breathless every time Wood held his hand.

He stopped in his tracks when Wood turned to him, he still didn't look angry, but George prepared himself for a shouting match, just in case.

"Hey," Wood said and he couldn't stop himself from flinching when tried to hold his face in place. "Are you okay?"

Was he okay? He didn't feel okay, but everyone counted on him to be okay, to move on. Because he was their happy boy, their happy son, their happy brother and happy friend. The one who made pranks and smiled every time Molly Weasley raised her voice.

_(He would never tell his mother that sometimes when she started screaming, he was afraid. He could never tell her something like that. He didn't want to break her heart.)_

"I know it hasn't been easy for you since the Battle." Wood continued, his fingers were brushing gentle circles on George's cheeks and he felt ready to sob. "I know you're sad and..."

"How did you know?" He asks, and he can feel tears start to drip.

Wood looks confused, his eyes moving like he's searching for answers on George's face. "What?"

"How did you know that I was sad?" George replies in a whisper. "I thought I hid it so well."

Then, it's like Wood's entire face lights up with comprehension. He drops his hands and takes a few steps back like he's been slapped across the face and George is this close to apologise when Wood takes a step forward and hugs him so tightly that he can hardly breathe.

"Oh, George." He murmurs, "You never have to hide it from me."

The cracks grow and grow, they form patterns of stars on George's mask and then it breaks. The pieces of his mask fall down, just like his tears and he can only shake in Wood's arms as he mumbles again and again.

_"I miss him, I miss him, I miss him, I miss him, I miss him so much, gosh, Oliver. I miss him. I miss him."_

He feels Wood wipe a tear from his cheek and he knows, he just knows that Wood will never see him in the same light again. But maybe, he thinks as Oliver presses his lips to his forehead gently, just maybe... It's okay.

It's okay.

It will be okay.

 _He_ will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope you liked this one shot. I always kind of wondered how George would move on with his his life without his twin (and I always kind of shipped Oliver and George) so I wrote this. This is also the first harry Potter fanfiction I post on this website so please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, so if you see any mistakes or typos, let me know!


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